


Routine

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Series: South Downs Cottage fics [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author Projecting onto Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Crowley Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Crowley has OCD, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24515203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: Guess who's projecting on Crowley again......
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: South Downs Cottage fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960858
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

Demons were said to be agents of chaos, thriving in confusion and disorder. Crowley was a demon, at least in technical terms. However, Crowley could never bear chaos. He craved order, routine, schedules, always schedules.  
Outwardly, he was chaotic. His clothes were constantly changing, ebbing as fashion and society evolved. Inside, on the other hand, Crowley was tense. Every step was a calculation, a thorough evaluation of the outcomes and consequences.  
He had his routine, one that he could not break. Every night, he would shower with water hot enough to remind him he was alive. He would change into his pyjamas, then tend to his hair. If it was long, he would braid it. Then, he would return his towel to the bathroom, and brush his teeth. If he brushed his teeth before hanging up his towel, the routine would be ruined and he'd have to start over.  
After brushing his teeth, he would turn on his white noise machine. That machine worked miracles. As London modernized, it proved necessary to drown out the overwhelming din of voices and sounds. Then, the demon would turn out the light, and climb into bed. Crowley's routines were crucial.  
Crowley built up his fortresses. His flat, for example, was a fortress. Surrounded by his plants and collections, he was safe.  
He found that Aziraphale's bookshop had also become his fortress, likely because he felt safe with Aziraphale. Aziraphale was a constant, and it helped that he never changed his clothes, never rearranged his shop. Everything was always as Crowley knew it to be.  
It is important to know what happens when Crowley's carefully constructed routines and fortresses collapse. Some humans in situations similar to his may be agitated, but for Crowley, whose physical health was already sub-par, he would become very, very ill.  
It seemed anything could tick off Crowley's health. The first time it happened was after leaving Eden. New surroundings, new routine, and suddenly Crowley's stomach twisted and churned, his head throbbed, and everything hurt.  
Since the Apocalypse, or rather the Apocalypse-that-didn't-happen, a lot of changes befell Crowley. Firstly, he was free, a concept difficult for the demon to comprehend. Before the Apocalypse, he insisted that he craved freedom, but in reality, his confines, no matter how abusive, were a constant, a routine. And once Crowley fell into a routine, it was very hard, and very painful, to break it. Additionally, though he hated to admit it, he didn't trust himself to choose for himself. He never trusted his mind, hell, he needed a human contraption to hope to drown out his instrusive thoughts. So he drank, drank until his ability to choose was lost. Or he submitted to Hell, or Aziraphale.  
As time moved on, and the idea that he was free was a reality, Crowley slowly fell into new routines. Those new routines often involved Aziraphale, which he found he did not mind. Slowly, his two fortresses merged. It began with a few books in his flat, a few plants in the bookshop. It ended with Crowley spending most of his time at the bookshop, the flat a distant memory.  
It was Aziraphale who suggested they create a new fortress, or, as he called it, a cottage. A cottage it was, a quaint one in South Downs. Said cottage had ample space for both a library and a garden, a fortress they could share.  
Crowley really did like the idea. He wanted to move to the cottage with Aziraphale, he really did. He wanted to be brave, take a risk, maybe impress Aziraphale.  
But when they finally did make that move, break that routine, his body betrayed him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the morning after they moved in. They had collapsed, exhausted into bed, and Crowley had barely managed to eke out a semblance of routine. His exhaustion overwhelmed him.   
"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale, always the early-riser, said cheerfully, holding out a tray of breakfast.   
Breakfast...the thought of food made his stomach churn.   
He shook his head, which felt very heavy, and slid under the sheets, the light too overwhelming.  
"Crowley? My dear, are you feeling alright?"   
Crowley could barely muster a response when he felt it. He bolted out of bed, and barely made it to the toilet before he threw up. His body felt weak, he felt numb, like a hollow being. And-  
Aziraphale saw him sick. His routine was destroyed.  
"Crowley, darling, I've got you," the angel, the blessed angel, only he could call a demon covered in vomit 'darling.'  
He pulled Crowley into his arms, miracling away the mess.   
"Let's get you to bed dear," he murmured, gathering the frail demon in his arms.   
Crowley wanted to protest, say that he was fine and didn't need help, but it hurt to open his mouth.   
"This whole moving business must have been quite the shock to your system," Aziraphale mused as he tucked Crowley back into bed.   
What? How did he know? He had been so careful…  
"I'm sorry for breaking your routine, love. I know it hurts."  
Crowley had gone out of his way to hide what he saw as his flaws from Aziraphale, but now, he somehow knew.   
Crowley's thoughts raced wildly: How long has he known? What does he think? He must think I'm an embarrassment, getting sick at a slight change in routine.   
"I know it's not easy for you. I can't imagine the pain you're going through."  
Aziraphale planted a soft kiss on Crowley's clammy forehead.   
His eyes, which had been closed, fluttered open for a second.   
"I promise you, Crowley, I'm not leaving you," he heard Aziraphale say, and then he drifted off into a feverish dream.


End file.
